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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823447">Like Family</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis_fay/pseuds/artemis_fay'>artemis_fay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Breaking Bad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Conversations, Late Night Conversations, POV Jesse Pinkman, Post-Finale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:13:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis_fay/pseuds/artemis_fay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the series finale, Skyler and Jesse have a conversation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jesse doesn’t plan on going back.</p><p>He doesn’t plan on letting the road drag him to Albuquerque, hands clenched over the steering wheel, the memory of a scream still burning in the back of his throat. He doesn’t want to go back to the life that he has lost, the future that he could have had. But somehow, it happens anyway. </p><p>By the time he turns onto the road and spots the house in the distance, it’s too late to turn back—before he can stop himself he’s pulling up and parking his car in the hazy glow of a streetlight.</p><p>Here, it’s quiet. There’s no screaming, no gunshots, only the sound of his own heavy breathing. He can still remember his last trip down this road. When he closes his eyes he can hear the angry screech of asphalt as he slammed on the breaks, gasoline sloshing in the seat next to him. One more moment, he thinks. All he needed was one more moment. There would have been a blaze, then a rush of pain. Then nothing. </p><p>If only he had driven a little faster. If only he had dropped the match. </p><p>He gets out of the car as quietly as possible. The house looms, a broken carcass, in front of him. All those times he had wondered what this family was like—when he finally caught a glimpse of it he wished he could go back to not knowing. There was something unnatural about that night, that moment, shadows stretched over the carpet, the long dining room table dark in the dim lighting. It was not the home he had always imagined. </p><p>“I’m in the empire business,” he had said, voice cold. Jesse was confused—what empire? What they did, what they were still doing, was not building an empire. When they were gone, everyone would forget who they were. But Drew Sharp’s parents would never forget him. Gale Boetticher would never be alive again. The only empire they had was the trail of destruction left in their wake. Was that really something to be proud of?  </p><p>Slowly, he trudges through the front door and past the living room, putting his hand over the wood paneled walls and the yellow name spray-painted over them. Heisenberg. When he first heard the name he thought it was laughable—an ordinary person’s idea of a criminal’s reputation. Now, seeing it makes him shudder.</p><p>At first, he doesn’t see her. She’s sitting in an old folding chair by the hollowed-out pool, smoke drifting lazily from the end of her cigarette. When she sees him she flinches, recoiling. Her eyes flash, first with fear, then recognition. It occurs to him, watching her turn away and gaze listlessly into the night, how different he must look. She hasn’t changed at all.</p><p>He contemplates leaving. This place isn’t his, it’s hers—he knows he shouldn’t be here. But as he retreats she starts to speak.</p><p>“Did you kill him?” The question stops him in his tracks. She doesn’t look at him. For a moment he can feel the cool metal against his skin, hand shaking as he realized that the thing he had thought about for so long was finally within reach. He almost did it. </p><p>“No.” </p><p>It’s not the answer she’s looking for, he can tell by the way she lets out a slow, cold exhale. </p><p>“Why?” she asks. Jesse doesn’t say anything, confused.</p><p>“Why did he do it?” she presses, voice cracking. </p><p>It’s not as if Jesse hasn’t asked himself the same thing a thousand times before. There was a time, a lifetime ago, when he thought he knew the answer. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he replies at last. </p><p>“How could you not know?” She meets his gaze, face twisted. “You were there. You were there from the beginning. I remember you.”</p><p>Suddenly, he realizes what she’s talking about—back before his parents kicked him out, before Gale, before Jane, before everything—back when disposing a body was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. He remembers her, too, annoying in a way that was so ordinary, so untouched. She didn’t know anything. </p><p>“It was different, then,” he finds himself saying. “It was different.”  </p><p>And then, “did he hurt you?” Jesse doesn’t know where the question comes from. He doesn’t really want to know the answer, but something, some, strange, sick desire, wants to hear that he wasn’t alone. </p><p>But she doesn’t respond. Instead, she rises from the chair, letting the used cigarette fall to the cement ground. She sits at the edge of the pool, feet dangling into the space where the water used to be. </p><p>“Our life,” she says softly, “it wasn’t bad.” Jesse gets the sense that she isn’t really talking to him. “It was hard, sometimes. But I was happy. I swear, I was happy. I thought I could make him happy.” </p><p>“And to think,” she continues, laughing grimly, “I used to think that you were the problem.” </p><p>Jesse sits at the edge opposite her, their eyes meeting across the space between them. There’s no moon tonight. Shadows flicker over the bottom of the empty pool. </p><p>“What happened to you?” she asks. There’s no concern, no pity in her voice. Only surprise, and, maybe, a touch of sadness. </p><p>Jesse isn’t sure how to answer her. He realizes, watching her examining his face, that he’ll probably be struggling to answer that question for the rest of his life. There will be days, he knows, in the future, to think back, to relive everything. There will be days to cry and scream and wonder why he is still alive. But tonight, he doesn’t want to think about any of that. </p><p>“I wanted to kill him,” he says quietly. “At least, I thought I did.”</p><p>“Me too.” Her eyes drift downward, fixated on something in the distance. </p><p>“I wanted you dead,” she murmurs. “I thought—I thought you would be the one to destroy my family.” </p><p>She says in such a matter-of-fact way. The emptiness of her voice sends a shiver down Jesse’s spine. He’s not so much frightened of her indifference as he is of his own reaction to it—a part of him wishes she had gotten her way. </p><p>“Your kids,” he asks abruptly, “are they—are they okay?” </p><p>“Yes. I think so. I don’t know.” </p><p>Somewhere, a bird lets out a mournful cry. Jesse, again, finds himself thinking of Brock, of that night, watching Andrea fall. The sound of her body hitting the steps was so soft, so quiet. No one was there to save her. </p><p>“We used to have picnics in the desert,” she continues, “Just the two of us. He made sandwiches. The rocks looked red in the sun.”</p><p>Jesse shudders involuntarily, remembering the way the cliffs glared down on them on a very different day, the flood of sheer terror, the sound of his yells useless in the dust and the hard blue sky. </p><p>“He didn’t want to kill you,” she says, interrupting Jesse’s thoughts. “You should know that. I wanted him to, but he wouldn’t.” </p><p>“That’s not true.” It comes off harsher than he meant it to. “You're lying. He lied to you.” A single tear makes its way down her face. “He—” </p><p>Jesse can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He can’t bring himself to think about what comes next, about what came next in the desert, in the cage, in the dark, damp hole of a lab he spent hours of his life rotting in. </p><p>“Maybe,” she whispers. “I don’t know what I was supposed to believe.” </p><p>They sit in silence, listening to the wind brush against the walls of the house. At first, Jesse doesn’t want to leave. His car, parked on the street, feels so far away. His final destination feels even further, almost unreachable. But watching this woman cry, surrounded by the ruins of what was once her life, he realizes that he still wants to live. He wants there to be something left for him, somewhere, not here, but somewhere. </p><p>He struggles to his feet and starts to make the trek back through the front door. As he steps back inside, he turns to look at her one last time. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” He is sorry—for everything he’s gone through, for everything he’s done, for agreeing to go down a path that could only end like this. </p><p>She looks up at him, eyes clear and blue against the cement. Before he turns away, before he gets in his car, before he drives into the distance, leaving everything behind, she offers him a final, weak smile. In the darkness, shadows on the ground, Jesse hopes she’ll be okay. </p><p>He wants her to be okay.</p>
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